


"i picked these for you."

by clickingkeyboards



Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [43]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, F/F, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Kid Fic, Practice Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: Hazel recalls her first meeting and first case with Daisy.Modern AUWritten for the forty-third prompt in the '100 ways to say "I love you"' prompt list by p0ck3tf0x on Tumblr.
Relationships: Daisy Wells & Hazel Wong, Daisy Wells/Hazel Wong
Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533164
Kudos: 17





	"i picked these for you."

Daisy and I met when we were only seven.

I arrived at Deepdean & Weston Primary when I was seven and would sit quite alone, staying inside at lunches after begging the teachers to let me stay _out_ of all the icy English rain. It was alright, sitting inside and reading up and up and up the levels of books. It was lonely, even for a child of solitude, but I grew used to the isolation. Despite how void of other little girls and boys my life was, I preferred my life that way: nobody was pulling up the corners of their eyes and saying, “Ching Chang Chong!”

Then Daisy wells accosted me. She picked me and my round Chinese features out of a line-up of perfect English girls with button noses, freckles, bouncing curls and decided that I was to join her and the rest of our class and play red rover with them. I remember linking hands with Daisy like my life depended on it, watching as Lavinia Temple and Jose Pritchett got ready to run at our line. I turned to Daisy, asking, “How is this allowed to be played?”

Daisy Wells looked back at me, her pale English face flushed prettily pink with excitement, her twin blonde plaits wild with bits sticking out, all coming undone, and her blue eyes utterly sparkling. She told me (and I remember this quite vividly), “It is called being English, Hazel Wong. It does not matter if you get dirty while doing it.”

Then Lavinia and Jose ran at us, Lavinia careening straight into the tight link between Daisy’s hand and mine. Despite how tight I clutched her, Lavinia’s stocky build broke the hold and I was tumbling into the hard concrete of the playground, dragging the rest of the line with me as I was dragged inwards to the point where the tension had broken. My face hit the concrete and my elbow slammed into the lines draw out for the basketball court. The backs of my bare legs were scratched up as a souvenir, and blood streamed from my nose.

I rolled onto my knees and knelt over, gasping and wiping bloody hands on my grey skirt as blood dripped from my nose and onto the ground.

“Hazel!” Daisy shrieked, throwing herself to the ground in front of me and landing with a bump. She was bleeding from her scraped elbow but didn’t seem to notice. “Hold your nose like this.”

I pinched my nose and leant forward and gasped as I wondered why English people insisted upon playing playground games that hurt so much. Then Miss Griffin (a headmistress whom we were all rather afraid of and yet adored) strode over in her suede high heels and bellowed, “What is the meaning of this?!”

As Kitty Freebody and Beanie Martineau (whom I later learnt is actually called ‘Rebecca’, but is nicknamed Beanie because she is so small and scared) tried to explain, Miss Tennyson (our drippy and droopy English teacher) ran over and helped me up and cried out, “Who is Hazel’s friend here? Someone take her to the first aid room!”

I remember gritting my teeth, peering out through eyes stinging with tears, and preparing for no one to stick their hand up, preparing for the laughter as Miss Tennyson led me away while feeling sorry for me.

That did not happen.

Daisy Wells shot her hand up before Miss Tennyson had finished her sentence. “I am! Hazel is my very best friend, and I will take her!”

I stumbled to the medical room on Daisy’s arm, dripping blood here, there, and everywhere, and I listened to her speak. “You are really quite marvellous, Hazel! You didn’t cry at all! How brave you are!”

I remember deciding that I rather liked being brave.

* * *

When Daisy and I were what we deemed to be ‘grown-up’ little girls, we would hide in the woods at the edge of the school grounds, in our tiny clearing surrounded by trees and bushes and rather a lot of grime. She would push her grimy, little-girlish face up to mine and tell me exactly _how_ Jack the Ripper murdered his victims, voice excited and fumbling and leaping and bounding over each syllable. We would kneel together on the dirt and clasp hands as we whispered about how we would become detectives when we were older.

That was also the age we had our first case. I was eleven, but Daisy turned twelve on the day that I started the casebook (The Case of the Suspicious Older Brother, begun on the 13th of April 2016) and was, therefore, lots more grown-up than I was.

We began the case at her birthday party, and the subject was her older brother. Although it was Daisy's birthday, she gave _me_ a gift: a casebook, a white notebook made of real leather.

"I picked this for you," she told me, and I kissed her cheek.

Her brother's name is Albert Wells (he is also an Honourable like Daisy is) and he was fourteen at the time. I did not see why we had to study in at first: I had known him for three entire years at that point and he liked me very much, helping me with homework and showing me how to do a cartwheel. That was until Daisy told me, with her nose wrinkled at the top, that something was certainly Going On with her brother and that she wanted to work out what it was and would not rest until she did. Because I would do anything for Daisy Wells, I agreed.

**PEOPLE INVOLVED:**

    1. **Bertie Wells.** NOTES: has been acting oddly since the 4th of January 2016. He keeps disappearing up to his room, texting at the dinner table and then getting in lots of trouble for it. On the 14th of February, he went out after school without telling Uncle Felix, which nearly got him into trouble until Alfred Cheng said that they had been working on a history project, staying late at school. (We believe Alfred Cheng was covering for something else, but what?)
    2. **Harold Mukherjee.** NOTES: is Bertie’s best friend. Has been hanging out with Bertie after school all the time. (We believe Harold is being used as a cover for something else, but what?) Has been acting very awkward whenever he comes over to Uncle Felix and Aunt Lucy’s when I am there.
    3. **Alfred Cheng.** NOTES: is Bertie’s friend. Said that he was doing a group project with Bertie to stop him getting in trouble. (We believe Alfred Cheng was covering for something else by pretending to do a project, but what?)



It was our first ever ‘suspect list’ and we were so giddy with elation that Daisy forgot to pretend to be silly in lessons and answers every single question in perfect detail. During maths, we balanced my casebook on our knees under the table and wrote out our first ever ‘plan of action’.

**PLAN OF ACTION:**

  1. Find out if there was ever a group project with Alfred Cheng.
  2. Listen to one of Bertie’s phone calls.
  3. Try and look at the texts he sends at the table.
  4. Burst into his room and surprise him and make him give into our interrogation.



I remember us barely concealing our giggles as we pretended to be doing the work, thinking that we were breaking the very worst of the rules by not paying attention and doing something else.

* * *

Daisy and I made it our mission before school to get the job of delivering the house quizzes around the school. We saved the ones for the form rooms in the history department for last and spoke to Miss Lappet (the upper-school history teacher).

“Miss Lappet, I have a question!” Daisy asked, and Miss Lappett melted (as we teachers always did).

“Yes, Daisy dear?” she asked, turning around in her desk chair to give Daisy her full attention.

“When I am much older, I want to take the history GCSE! My big brother — you know him, Bertie Wells — was telling me earlier this year, around Valentine’s Day, about a project he was doing with Alfred Cheng. What sort of project would that be? I want to know as much as I can?”

She gave us a confused look and I remember Daisy squeezing my hand in excitement. Were we onto something?

“We never did a project in February, my dear Daisy,” she said, fiddling with her pearl necklace. “I’m sure you’ve made a mix-up.”

Daisy pulled a puzzled sort of expression. “Really? Oh, dear me, maybe I have! I’ll work out the things I want to know about the history GCSE and come and speak to you tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes, Daisy dear, please do.”

We left the room and Daisy _squealed_. “Hazel! We’re onto something! There was no project!” She bounced up and down, holding my hands, and I couldn’t stop myself from fizzing with excitement too

“Alfred was covering for Bertie!” I said, dumping my bag from my shoulder and onto the carpet, digging out my casebook.

**PLAN OF ACTION:**

  1. ~~Find out if there was ever a group project with Alfred Cheng.~~
  2. Listen to one of Bertie’s phone calls.
  3. Try and look at the texts he sends at the table.
  4. Burst into his room and surprise him and make him give into our interrogation.



“Now,” Daisy said, her chin digging into my shoulder as she leant over and watched me rule it out. I remember the feeling of her golden hair tickling the back of my neck, “it is good that your dad is busy tonight! You’re coming back to my house, aren’t you?”

I nodded, turning to smile at her and getting caught up in her golden hair and bright blue eyes. “We can do the second part of our plan of action!”

She squeezed my hand, and I still remember the feeling of lightning at the contact, one I could not explain.

* * *

That afternoon, Uncle Felix and Aunt Lucy picked us up after school. Bertie walked out with Alfred and Harold, the sleeves of his blazer rolled up and his bag on one shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harold!”

With a ruffle of Bertie’s already unruly hair, Harold said, “See you in form, Al.”

Alfred rolled his eyes and made some ridiculous gesture that made Harold and Bertie break down in laughter. “See you tomorrow, you idiots.”

Bertie threw open the passenger door, throwing his bag in the footwell and greeting Uncle Felix with a punch of his shoulder. “Hey, Uncle F.”

“Bertie! How was your day?” he asked, and I realised that Bertie froze at the question.

“Oh… alright, I guess.” He put his hand back between the seats for Daisy to high-five. “How are you, Squashy?”

“I’m good, Squinty,” she said, and she grinned at me. “We had a good day. Didn’t we, Hazel?”

I nodded.

* * *

With my casebook on my knees, Daisy and I pressed our backs to the wall that joins Uncle Felix and Aunt Lucy’s room with Bertie’s room. We would be listening in from Daisy’s room or from the door, but Bertie always makes phone calls while in his bed, stretched out with one hand behind his head and the other holding his phone. His bed is pressed up against the wall it shares with the master bedroom, making it the perfect place to listen in.

“Oh, _hey_!” Bertie said, and although it was muffled we felt his sigh of relief. “Yeah… no, I didn’t tell him. I know that I should have but… come on, my sister was in the car. I tell my uncle while she’s there and it’s all over the school.”

There was a long pause and Bertie laughed. “Yeah, yeah, love. Don’t worry: you don’t have to do that. You don’t need to tell your brother. _Really_ , love, you don’t… Yes, yes, I know. Oh my _god_!”

Bertie broke into laughter. “No! You can't say that! My sister will hear me laughing!”

“Yes, yes… at some point next week, _please_ do!”

I remember Daisy grabbing my arm and squeezing it. _We were onto something_.

* * *

**PLAN OF ACTION:**

  1. ~~Find out if there was ever a group project with Alfred Cheng.~~
  2. ~~Listen to one of Bertie’s phone calls.~~
  3. Try and look at the texts he sends at the table.
  4. Burst into his room and surprise him and make him give into our interrogation.



I crossed that out in the casebook when we ran back to Daisy’s room, giggly and breathing hard after the phone call.

“Write down the key quotes from the phone call!” Daisy said to me, laying beside me on the carpet. The two of us looked at each other, our noses almost touching, so close that I could count the freckles on her nose, watch her eyelashes flutter, and see her excited blue eyes full of the thrill of a case.

“Okay, Daisy.”

_“Love.” (Bertie is dating someone, or doing that odd grown-up pre-relationship thing you do, called ‘flirting’.)_

_“No, I didn’t tell him.” (Bertie was supposed to tell Uncle Felix something but he didn’t.)_

_“At some point this week, please do!” (The person he is talking to will come over this week.)_

We stared at it.

“We’re close, Hazel!” she said, grabbing my hand. Our palms were both sweaty, and it sort of… embarrassed me.

* * *

At dinner, I sat next to Bertie. That meant that I had to look at his phone as he messaged under the table.

“You have to!” Daisy whispered as she grabbed a potato from the centre. “Go on?”

I snuck a glance.

_You’ve got to stop texting me while you’re at the table, Al! We’re going to get caught._

_Sue me for wanting to talk to you for as long as I can._

_How romantic, you idiot. I know I’m irresistible._

_I can’t help that all I want to do is talk to you, no matter what._

_I do love you, you know that, don’t you?_

_I don’t think I shall ever forget._

“Bertie, put away your phone!” Uncle Felix snapped. “Or would you like to read it out?”

He stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans as fast as he could. “No, I’m alright. Sorry, Uncle Felix.”

“It’s alright, Bertie.”

I turned to Daisy, my mouth an ‘o’ of astonishment. “Oh my god,” I whispered. “He _is_ dating someone. The person who’s going to come over this week!”

She gripped her glass hard and grinned at me. “Good Watson-ing!”

I admired her golden hair as it shone while she vibrated with excitement. “Thank you.”

**PLAN OF ACTION:**

  1. ~~Find out if there was ever a group project with Alfred Cheng.~~
  2. ~~Listen to one of Bertie’s phone calls.~~
  3. ~~Try and look at the texts he sends at the table.~~
  4. Burst into his room and surprise him and make him give into our interrogation.



* * *

Over the following week, Bertie had several people over after school.

Amanda Price on Monday. We burst into his room, hoping to catch _something_ going on. No, they were just writing side-by-side on their laptops, looking confused when we came in.

“Will you help us with our homework?” I asked, coming up with an excuse on the spot.

They did.

On Wednesday, Alfred Cheng. On that day, we listened up against the door but only heard them discussing a book named _Carry On_. It was boring as anything.

James Monmouth and Freddie Savage came over on Thursday, but all they did was sit around in the living room and work on drama presentation.

On Friday, Harold Mukherjee came over. Together, they vanished up to Bertie’s room and we were so busy writing up our case, we barely remembered that it was our last chance to burst in and interrogate Bertie, with his best friend there to give up information about this girl Bertie is dating.

At six, just before dinner, we exploded into his room. Daisy burst in first and stopped, taking a step back with her hands over her mouth. I peered around her and gasped.

I remember how I processed the situation inside my eleven-year-old mind: Bertie was— Harold was— they were… _kissing_ . Harold was sort of crouching over Bertie, who was sprawled back on the bed (with all his clothes on, thank goodness) in the oddest fashion. They both gasped most oddly and kissed in a really quite horrible-looking way, and I remember thinking that it was not at all like the way people kissed in films, a small peck on the lips. I had no idea that boys could kiss, let alone… let alone kiss like _that_.

We did not stick around for an interrogation. Daisy turned and so did I, and tripping over each other, we shot out of the room and down the hall into Daisy’s room, ignoring Bertie yelling (rather breathless), “Squashy! Hazel! Stop— no— let me explain!”

We sat beside each other on Daisy’s rug, staring at each other with enormous eyes for several minutes before speaking.

“That was informative,” Daisy said, her tone sounding rather sick.

At our age back then, seeing two people making out was absolutely horrifying. Our reaction to seeing case subjects kissing each other nowadays (at fourteen and fifteen) is just a sigh and a shrug and a polite, “We’ll come back later.”

“Indeed.”

She leant her head on my shoulder, her golden hair cascading over my shoulder as she sighed softly. “I didn’t know that… well, I _did_ know, but I would never think that _Bertie_ …”

**PLAN OF ACTION:**

  1. ~~Find out if there was ever a group project with Alfred Cheng.~~
  2. ~~Listen to one of Bertie’s phone calls.~~
  3. ~~Try and look at the texts he sends at the table.~~
  4. ~~Burst into his room and surprise him and make him give into our interrogation.~~



“Do you think that they’re happy, Daisy?” I remember asking her when I had put down my casebook.

“Happy? Yes, I suppose so.” She looked up at me, incredibly close to me. Our cheeks brushed. “That is not why I am concerned about.”

 _What else could she be concerned about?_ I remember wondering. “What are you worried about?”

“Are people supposed to kiss like that? It looked dreadfully bruising and painful, doesn’t it?”

Daisy liked (and still likes) to know everything there is to know. I knew that it would eat at her. “Maybe. If Bertie was doing it, I suppose it is how teenagers kiss. Not how people kiss in films, all delicate and nice.”

“Do you think I ought to practise?” she asked me.

I started, turning to her and jerking her head off my shoulder. “Sorry, Daisy. You surprised me.”

“When I am older,” Daisy said to me, staring at her white socks with frills at the top, “I would like to kiss girls rather than boys.”

I stared at Daisy, my eyes locked on hers as she fixed her own firmly on her socks. “Oh. You are supposed to be allowed to do that?”

She nodded. “Yes. Sometimes people do that.”

“I want to do it too.”

She looked over at me, and her blue eyes sparkled in a way that was a little shy, an expression I had never seen on her face before up until that point. “Do you think we should practise?”

 _No!_ I thought because I realised that it was so wrong, everything I thought. I did want to kiss Daisy, and she did not want me to kiss her except to practise. It would be wrong, it would be cheating, it would be unkind. “Yes,” I said. “It might be a good idea.”

Daisy and I crouched opposite each other, looking at each other with the sort of scientific precision reserved for experiments. “Just normal kissing, right?” I said. “Film kissing? Not how very disgusting Bertie and Harold kissing looked.”

“Yes.” Daisy nodded, then she swept her blonde hair over one shoulder and leant in.

Our noses bumped, and while I huffed a laugh, the wrinkle at the top of Daisy’s nose appeared again. “Oh.” She paused, then brightened. “Oh!”

She leant in and tilted her head, and I felt that I should melt when our lips touched. Daisy put her hands on my shoulders, and I awkwardly put mine on her waist, resting where her shirt tucked into her skirt.

I suddenly saw the appeal of kissing.

We pulled apart, panting. _In movies, people kiss for such a long time,_ I remember thinking, disappointed that you still needed to breathe when you kissed somebody.

Daisy had a thoughtful look on her face. “That was… rather nicer than I thought it would be.” Her cheeks were pink, prettily flushed, and her eyes looked incredibly brighter than usual. “But kissing is still gross, right?”

I nodded. “Right. But not when it’s us.”

"Exactly what I thought, Watson. It's different for us."

Satisfied with my train of thought, Daisy grabbed my hand and dragged me down the stairs to wait for dinner.

For the first time, I thought that her lips were rather a pretty part of her, too.


End file.
